All Hail the King, Baby!
by ChaosGamer
Summary: "At this point it is evident that you are reading my private journal... despite the hoard of protective spells and abhorrent curses cast upon these very stacks of parchments. Next time you see me, you better wish that I am more impressed than wrathful."
1. Myself and the Hackneyed Macguffin Ch 1

'Twas was the only trolley cart with the cookie crunch.

Where to begin? The spectacular wizardry shenanigans I have experienced over the years have compelled me to write them down, to let them out in some sort of outlet. At least, that's what Hermione suggested to me. Am I a good writer? That answer would be shown later on.

I was born and raised within an orphanage... to say the least I have mixed feelings about that place. I won't go too much into it. Not an auspicious beginning. I was destined to go into a normal school with normal children, until an old man with a grey beard showed up, intent upon changing my fate.

* * *

><p><em>A man, with a long beard with a green hat and robes strolled through the quiet paved roads in New Jersey. The weather had just begun to be cool and chilly with leaves turning red and yellow. The man attracted curious stares from fellow pedestrians far and few between. Granted, it seemed to others that this man was wearing flamboyant bathrobes for a midday walk.<em>

_Stepping up to a building, the man raised his fist, softly pounding upon the door twice. Footsteps were heard on the other side; the door opened to reveal a young man._

_"Good Afternoon. I believe I have made an appointment with Mrs. Johnson, the matron in this orphanage."_

_The teen at first gaped at the man's clothing before responding. "Ah, I, uh, I see. I'll fetch her for you." turning back, he quickly stalked inside, eager to get away from the man standing before the door. After few moments an apron wearing woman appeared on the doorway._

_"Good Afternoon, Mrs. Johnson. My name is Albus Dumbledore. May I come in?"_

_"...Of course." Mrs. Johnson gave a fake smile after overcoming her shock. The man stepped into the hallway, with plain walls with pattered floor. The door closed behind them._

_"I have sent you a letter requesting an appointment to which you kindly responded and have invited me here today."_

_After few moments Mrs. Johnson remembered her schedule. "Yes, of course. Well - it'll be best to discuss inside the meeting room." _

_After shouting instructions to other helpers, Mrs. Johnson and Dumbledore stepped inside a room, with little decoration, a large table, and several stiff chairs. Mrs. Johnson sat down, eying Dumbledore apprehensively._

_"As I have stated within my letter I have come to discuss about Procyon Black and his future."_

_"How did you get to know about Procyon?" asked Mrs. Johnson._

_"His name has been down for our school since his birth."_

_"Are you directly related to him in any way?"_

_"No, I am not. I am a teacher. I have come to offer Procyon a place at my school."_

_"Well then, how was his name down for your school? Who registered for him? His parents?"_

_It seemed as though Dumbledore who have to answer each and every question Mrs. Johnson asked._

_"Here is a document that I hope will explain everything." Taking out a piece of folded paper Dumbledore took out his wand, tapped it once on the paper, and handed the document toward Mrs. Johnson. The effect was immediate – once her eyes fell on the sheet of paper, her eyes began to swivel around for a moment before refocusing. She placed the paper down._

_"The document seems to be in order." She stood up from her chair. "Come with me, please."_

_Walking out from the room, Mrs. Johnson led Dumbledore upstairs._

_"No one ever came to visit Procyon before." Mrs. Johnson explained as they walked. "You are the first one. He is very clever and a kind boy, but the orphanage roughened him up somewhat - but than again this type of life is hard to everyone. Here we are." Mrs. Johnson stopped in front of a door, in the hallway filled with numerous rooms. Twisting the knob she opened the door._

_"Jack?" She called inside. "Someone is here to see you."_

_A young boy, age of eleven was inside the room, a book on his desk, and his face turned toward their direction. He merely raised his eyebrows at the clothing of the man. __Mrs. Johnson walked away; Dumbledore stepped into the room, closing the door behind him._

* * *

><p><span>August 10th, 1991.<span>

How to describe him? How would you describe an old man wearing a bathrobe, wishing to visit you? At first, my impression of him was not favorable. Eccentric. Dangerous. Intelligent. Dangerous. Whimsical. Dangerous. Liar. Dangerous. Kind. Dangerous. Manipulative. Dangerous... did I mention danger?

A loud silence hung within the room as we both silently appraised each other, making calculations within our minds. Was I supposed to trust him? He had this sense of ridiculousness to him that reminded me of Willy Wonka.

Finally, he spoke.

"Hello, Procyon."

Inwardly, I cringed. What kind of name was that anyway?

"Please, call me Jack." I outstretched my hand toward him. A proper gentlemen was to be polite, or so I was taught. He accepted my handshake. From that brief moment of touching hands, I began to analyze it. Warm hands, psychologically making him more affable within my mind. Tough, wizened lines of long years etched onto the surface. Firm, proper handshake as expected from a British man, I assumed from the accent.

"You seem to dislike your name."

"Weird name." I replied. "I do wonder what was going through my mom's head when she gave me that name."

"Your mother?" he inquired.

"My mom. Everyone has a mom."

"I see." he cut to the chase. "My name is Dumbledore. I am a headmaster at a boarding institute, Jack. I am here to offer you a place within my school."

See, that was surprising. It was not like I had particularly high grades, nor was I someone who was considered to be a 'role model' to others.

"Really?" replied myself, a bit surprised. "But why me? Why not anyone else?"

"How do you know that I have only come for you?" he said.

"Obvious." I began my long line of reasoning. First impression was everything, and I needed to convince him of my capability. "If you were willing to offer a chance at your school to everyone within this orphanage, you would not bother coming in to see each and everyone here in this building, but speak with Mrs. Johnson to set up an advertisement instead. On an off chance that you do, however, a gossip about a man in a strange clothing going around offering a chance to escape this place would spread like wildfire. The chances of me being the first to be offered is relatively low, as my last name is neither first nor last on alphabet system in this school, my grade is not number one in this orphanage, I am not the oldest in this orphanage nor the youngest, and my room is a bit far away from the front entrance. Therefore, you have only come for me, not everyone else."

Granted, it heavily relied on many fallible assumptions, but it seemed as though this time I had hit the mark. The Headmaster sat back, studying my words intently.

"You are right in assuming that I have come for only you. You see, you are a bit special."

I smiled. "I try not to assume. It leads to errors. I hope you mean special in a good way," I said, "-Headmaster." I quickly added.

"While you lived in this orphanage, you must have noticed things happening around you. Peculiar things."

"..."

"Something that cannot be described by logic. Can you remember any?"

It was clear; this old, flamboyant man held the key to my understanding of the things within the dark, the occult, the supernatural. Indeed, as he said, many weird things happened around myself, unable to be explained by my line of reasoning. I took the gamble of being frank with him.

"Well... There was one time where a kid's glasses exploded when he took one of my toys. And than there was one where I somehow found myself achieving twice my normal speed while couple of jerks were chasing me. Then there was one time my head split a bookshelf in half when it fell on top of me." I shrugged. "Yeah, weird stuff happened."

"They often happened while you were in high-stress situation, I hazard to guess?" the Headmaster asked.

"Hrm... Not really. They only happened when I wanted them to happen. It's kind of like I have a little control over them."

Cue more scrutiny. Then, he continued.

"The school I come from is for special people like you and I." he leaned closer to me. "School of Magic." He whispered.

...

Well.

Magic. How to describe it? A complete, new and separate set of laws that contradicts normal way of thinking. Its very existence shattered my previous view of the world, and replaced it, supplemented it, superseded it, like Newton's theories being partly accepted and rejected by Einstein's thinking.

It was certain.

I had to learn more. And, I needed to master it.

But first...

"...Alright, can you show me a spell, Headmaster?"

Ah yes, the burden of proof. It was now or never... if he refused me now, I wouldn't have believed him.

But, slowly he turned toward the clay figurines located upon my desk. Intricately designed little pieces, I poured countless amount of hours into them, giving them personality, shapes, and features. Taking out a piece of wood longer than a twelve inch ruler, he merely waved it toward them.

One by one they all began to twitch, and move on their own accord.

"...Will I be able to do that?" I whispered, my head being filled with countless amount of ideas to the point where I was surprised that it didn't burst.

"If you attend Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." he explained. He waved his wand once more, and the figures ceased their movement, much to my disappointment. "To attend Hogwarts, proper materials are required. Textbooks, for example."

"Well, um, my pockets are empty at the moment, Headmaster." I sheepishly scratched my head.

He lightly smiled. "The family vault of the Black family should suffice."

"I have a family account in a bank?" and all those years I stood in front of that vending machine, wishing for cash. Was I dreaming?

"Gringotts, in Diagon Alley, London. There is enough money inside the vault to supply for the books and more."

"London... how would I reach there, Headmaster?"

Having thought for a minute, he replied. "There are two options. Taking a plane, or Apparating alongside with me."

"Apparate?"

"What you would call magical teleportation. However it is inadvisable if you experience motion sickness, or have a weak stomach."

"Nah, forget all that; teleportation is worth it." I was filled with too much excitement to care about the side effects of that particular mode of transportation.

"The school starts in three weeks. You should begin packing up now if you wish to leave by tomorrow." The Headmaster stood up. "If so, I will pick you up tomorrow."

"I'll begin packing up today Headmaster."

"Good. I believe that concludes my visit."

* * *

><p>So ends the first day of my new life dyed with magic, I suppose. There are far more unmentioned stories before that day that I have not written down, but that's for some other time. It felt like being a protagonist in some sort of novel; in the midst of my less than fortunate upbringing, I am whisked away to new lands by a mysterious visitor. It was all so cliche.<p>

The more I delved into the history of my family, the more I was intrigued. I was part of the long, deep rooted family of 'Purebloods' who practiced magic generation to generation for eons. Supposedly I received their blood for talent, and therefore, had the ability to do magic.

Also, most of other male bloodline in my family died out, apparently, except for my uncle, who was in wizarding prison for killing about a dozen people. Yeah... not a great start or reputation.

And, consequently, I was bequeathed to a family home, disguised within the apartment of the muggles... later I found out that muggles built their apartment around my family home, but I digress.

So there I was, stuck within a dark, dusty, gloomy, and allergy inducing house of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, with only an elf to keep me company. Kreacher is a great guy, but not a fun guy.

How to describe the home itself... ever read the House of Usher? It's exactly that. Minus the cracks. And the marsh. The Painting of my Grandmother hung around the entrance hall had favorable attitude toward myself, I'm happy to say.

One thing I did notice; the gigantic family tree hung within the house. Described all family members within the bloodline- right up to myself, with picture for each member.

"...I look nothing like that. And who burned the portraits?"

"I did." I voice spoke up from the painting. "A hex spell for each and every one of our FILTHY BLOOD-TRAITORS, SCUM ON THE EARTH-"

But, I digress.

The copious amounts of dangerous objects within the household was bit of a trouble to deal with, but mostly I avoided trouble by staying within my own chamber. So passed my several weeks within my ancestral home. I am glad to write that I have made myself at home gracefully.

The trip to Diagon Alley was nothing special, so I won't go too much into details. Instead, here is some notable events that took place.

Instead of buying a Wizard Hat, I bought robes with hoods attached. A clear violation of the Supply List, but I was a rebel. Hats you needed to carry around, and your head became too hot when you wore them. Hoods had advantage over that particular case.

Instead of Pewter Cauldron I bought Bronze Cauldron. They probably would not notice.

I bought a Peregrine falcon instead of the usual limit of cat, toad, or an owl. I had hoped that they would mistake it for a mutated owl. You should have seen the shopkeeper's face when I asked for this unprecedented choice.

As for the wand, I had actually broken the usual wand core standard... a Kelpie Mane, Apple wand wood, Ten and a half inches. Now, as to actual competence of kelpie hair compared to other cores, I had yet to see. My wand, I knew, was destined to be a wand of greatness.

All in all, I trampled over the written rules.

Dusty copies of tome buried deep within my homes had their own charms and niches. Some described grotesque experimental spells, some made note of the top forbidden foul creatures known to the wizardkind... I had hard time sleeping at night, but the dark knowledge obtained from the many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore made their worth. I would hazard a gamble that I knew more about dark arts than any other first year students within Hogwarts... letting a young, curious scholar run around amok within a household filled with grim objects. What were they thinking?

In addition to the black arcane, I had found various books that matched the list of required textbooks for the first year at Hogwarts. One that caught my attention in particular was the old copy of _Magical Drafts and Potions_, which contained copious amount of tips and notes informing the reader of much better method of preparing and brewing potions. Intrigued, I substituted the old book for the school supplies, intent upon trying out the informal method.

The trip itself to the 9 and 3 quarters was eventful, to say the least.

Imagine your typical English bus. Now, make it blacker. And then, give it a personification of a drunkard on cocaine. And, while you are at it, set its hair on fire. That was the Knight Bus. Not a moment of tranquility or peace was given to its passengers in order to gain its speed. The drivers themselves were more scatterbrained, if possible. A shrunken ball resembling a head that looked like it was taken out from the pickling jar of a coven witch hung near the driver seat, babbling unintelligible languages in its meaningless conversations. There was a lady that posed danger to everyone else within her meter radius around of being puked upon.

All in all, a life experience. I was glad for the lessons I gained through it, but I hoped never to encounter that bus within the future.

September 1st, 1991.

New Jersey didn't have a lot of trains, so I was a bit excited about the prospect of being transported to the castle with it. As for the compartments themselves, I had within my mind developed a top notch method of locating the compartment with most beneficial connections as possible. Even as of now I hesitate to write the trade secret method upon this very protected parchment, but knowledge not passed down to future generations are considered a waste in my book.

...

"One spot, two spot, zig, zag, tear. Pop-die, pennygot, tennyum, tear. Harum, scare 'em, rip 'em, tear 'em, tay, taw, toe..."

Gathering more attention from bystanders in each passing second I began to point my fingers back and forth furiously, trying to pick the best compartment possible. Upon the door of the chosen room I opened with such speed that it startled the two unfortunate students located within. With perfect calm I placed my bag within the space above the seats, sat down, and opened up my favorite volume of grimoire: Necronomicon.

Brief silence followed as the other two occupants carefully studied me, while I studied them. One with wild red hair, the other with black messy mop with glasses.

"Yo. I hope you don't mind my intrusion. I chose this compartment at random, you see. My name is Jack Black. What's yours?"

"Harry Potter."

"Ron Weasley."

"Nice to meet you. Now." I clasped my hands together. "I'm excited to go to Hogwarts. How about you?"

"Oh yeah," Ron nodded. "We are pretty excited. Magic and all."

"Good, good... Ron, do you have brothers?"

"Yes?" he replied, confused by my sudden curiosity. "I have several."

"Two of them are twins, right?"

"Yeah, their names are Fred and George. Why do you ask?"

"Just a hunch. They are troublemakers, right? Does pranks."

"Definitely. Drives me mum mad all the time."

"Perfect. Now, if you'll 'scuse me... save me this spot, would you?" standing up, I grabbed my bag and made my way out to the hall. If they were troublemakers, than I had a deal they would not be able to refuse.

It took a great while to find the correct compartment; they were within the middle of the train. Sliding it open I nonchalantly entered, my bag within my hand.

"Hello," I spoke toward the surprised occupants. "You are Fred and George, I assume." I nodded toward the two with fiery red hair.

"Yes-"

"-We are." They responded.

"My name is Black- Jack Black. And, I have an interesting offer for you. May I sit down?"

Sitting next to the African-British student, I reached my hand inside the bag and pulled out a small brown bag.

"Griffin Liver. Class B Non-Tradeable Substance. Can only be acquired with proper connections within Knockturn Alley, or if your house is filled with particularly dangerous objects. An important ingredient for certain potions with annoying side effects... ones for good pranks, for instance." I gave a Cheshire grin. "I am willing to make a trade. Care to hear the details?"

Interested at my proposition the two exchanged glances, and one of them spoke up.

"Sure. What do you want from it?"

"...Apprenticeship." leaning back, I placed my hands behind my head. "I intend to create an interesting prank that will most certainly startle the students during morning breakfast few days after I arrive to Hogwarts. For that, I will require some information from those more experienced, like yourselves."

"A prank to kick off a new year?" one of the twins spoke up.

"Sounds great." the other one grinned. "Let's hear it."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So, uh, Hi.<strong>

**I guess this is my third try. I attempted once on 2011, and another on 2013. Now I am trying once more on 2015. If you actually read previous iterations of Jack Black fanfics, you would know what I am talking about. If not, you are better off not knowing... I just hope you enjoyed this chapter.**

**This is my first try in writing in second point of view, as I thought it would change the perspective and the pace dramatically. The ideas rolling around within my head compelled me to write about Jack in the past, and it still does so now... never underestimate your inspiration.**

**Please review.**


	2. Myself and the Hackneyed Macguffin Ch 2

Spetember 3rd, 1991.

Owls flooding into the Great Hall was of the norm each morning. However, one eye catching aspect of this particular breakfast was that each individual birds had pigment painted onto them. Technicolor strigiformes, in other words. Students stopped eating and stared in wonder at their own pets, wondering about this unexpected change.

I flashed a brief thumbs up toward the direction of grinning twins, and received one in return.

"Who did this?" Harry wondered, his voice barely heard over the commotion within the Great Hall.

"I did." I quietly sipped on my juice as I inspected my own creative work. "Muggle paints. I partly received my help from Ron's brothers, as this is my first prank... it took me all afternoon yesterday, but worth it, no?

"Well, Syltherins are looking pretty angry at the bright red colors of their owls." Ron peeked over toward their direction.

"That was no mistake."

"People will think my brothers did it, though." Ron pointed out.

"My work will speak for itself... besides, they won't take credit for what I did. I was initially under the impression that painting a group of birds would have been easy. Apparently, owls don't like it when a stranger gives them a free makeover. Go figure. But, I have done it... and, I have reaped my reward."

I suppose I should pick up where I left off; the sorting itself I will not go into too much detail with. Besides, Harry would have that covered on his own private journal. All you needed to know was that I was _this_ close into going into Ravenclaw instead of Griffindor. Not that there was anything wrong with Ravenclaws, no siree.

The following conversation took place before the sorting:

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait," I interrupted Professor McGonagall's speech about house sorting with my raised hand. "Why is the Ravenclaw symbol an eagle?"

"Well, what other animal should it be, Mr. Black?"

"Oh, I don't know, a Raven?"

The classes themselves have interested me to an extent... I had curiosity in Charms, as the famous wizard Merlin was known as the Prince of Charms. History of Magic quite unfortunately placed many students including myself to sleep due to boredom, the most responsible culprit being the very teacher who taught the class. However, learning history was important, and I was determined to find a way to take notes while somehow managing to sleep at the same time.

Transfiguration was a branch magic of inherently changing the initial composition and form of an object... this went against everything I had learned about the laws of thermodynamics, and I was determined to grasp the rules behind them clearly.

"Now, match," I whispered toward the inanimate object as I grasped the wand within my hand. "We can do this the easy way... or the highway. You can turn into a needle when I wave my wand, or if you don't and stay the way you are, I'll turn you alight faster than you can protest. A dangerous man does not need friction to make fire."

Of course, the said matchstick did not comply. So I carried out my threat, and was subsequently scolded by Professor McGonagall.

Within Herbology I had natural interest within the genes of plants that devoured meat of the animals. Members of the kingdom plantae that fed upon the flesh of the organisms of the kingdom animalia interested me greatly. Previously I had my eye on Defense Against the Dark Arts, as I was keen on how they developed ways against the hideous and fear-inducing spells introduced within the dark tomes within my household, but I am sorry to say I was disappointed. The very professor of the class himself looked like he would collapse from fear of the subject itself at any moment.

Now, the Potions class... my previous fascination with them was hyped up further more by the epic speech Professor Snape had given us. Bottling fame, brewing glory, and stoppering death sounded like my jam. However, I do remember distinctly that his lips curled to the sneer of contempt and hatred (more so than usual) when he had reached my name within the attendance list.

On our very first morning of school (September 2nd) I was determined to find out the purpose of banning entrance into the third floor corridor on the right hand side. And, knowing that my friends would not comply, I had 'accidentally' lead them to the floor in question.

"Jack, I'm pretty sure this is not the way."

"Nonsense." I looked way too cheerful for someone heading toward the classroom. "Classroom E2 is located on the Charms Corridor, on the third floor. We are on the third floor."

"But that schedule was from last year." Ron pointed out.

"And how exactly does that matter?" I replied.

"The schedule could have changed."

"I'm willing to take that risk." Walking up to an entrance to a corridor, I pulled with great difficulty.

"Zounds! It's locked." Taking a step back, I contemplated for a way into the corridor.

"Why would it be locked?" Harry frowned. "It makes no sense. No one is going to lock a way to a classroom."

"No matter, we have to get through." I grabbed the handle. "Let's pull together in one... two... three!"

All three of us heaved together – it was futile. The door remained stubborn, snapped shut.

"...Right, if we can't open the door, we'll smash it open." standing back, I grabbed my wand, pointing it toward the door.

"-Um, not sure if that's a good idea-" Ron spoke up, but it was too late.

"_DIFFINDO!_"

Nothing happened, naturally.

"_DIFFINDO! DIFFINDO!_"

Upon the third try, small, albeit deep cracks ran along the surface.

"Right, I guess it is a too high level of a spell..." stowing my wand away, I began to think of other way to open the door.

"...We'll have to kick it open."

"We are NOT destroying a school property on our first day of school!" Harry argued furiously. "We'll just have to ask someone else-"

He was interrupted by the presence of a cat right behind us. Slinking around our legs it purred, its eyes just as yellow as mine staring at us in an oddly insolent way.

"Here, kitty, kitty, kitty-" I reached down to pet the creature, but stumps of footsteps interrupted me.

"Attempting to sneak into the forbidden corridor, eh? Thought you could get past the magical locks?" huffing and blowing, a large man with less than pleasant countenance ran up toward us.

"Ah, this is the forbidden corridor? I had no idea!" I replied brightly, attempting to get out of our trouble. "Would you like to assist us in getting to our classes, sir?"

"You don't fool me!" jabbing his finger toward me, he scooped up his cat into his arms. "I ought to have you three locked up in dungeons for trespassing-"

"N-n-now, Mr. Filch..." a nervous voice interrupted his ranting as our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher stepped into the corridor. "I'm s-sure Mr. Potter and his f-f-friends have simply lost in t-their way to t-their classroom. A-after all, it's only the first d-day."

WE'RE SAVED.

Smiling brightly at Mr. Filch I dragged my two friends away from the scene of the crime before he could change his mind. Right after we were out of sight both of my friends glowered at me.

"Jack..."

"You must believe me on this. I had no idea that we were at the front of the forbidden corridor." I nonchalantly responded, and, of course, both of them didn't believe me.

September 6th, 1991.

It seemed as though our Potions Professor had no love for our dear Harry. The moment the man's dark, gloomy eyes landed upon my friend's visage, his expression turned, forming into a peculiar expression, displaying abnormal emotions: one that had mixture of sadness, anger, happiness, anger, remorse, anger, interest, anger, bitterness, anger... did I mention anger?

Now, I have no idea why Harry's mere face made such a remarkable change upon the man. All I remember is that he picked upon Harry to ask very specific questions, and docked several points for the clever comment Harry made. He also seemed to dislike Gryffindors in general. So within that subject we were all at severe disadvantage.

However, hardship produces efficiency and ingenuity. I was determined to use the underrating view of our potions professor in order to perfect my potion creating techniques. The key toward success was to create advantages from the disadvantages...

However, my tomfoolery had caught up with me at this point.

"What is this, Mr. Black? Are you so illiterate and blind that you cannot tell Bronze apart from Pewter?"

Welp. He had a good point; I went against the supply list and had bought Bronze Cauldron instead of Pewter. However, I had a good counterpoint prepared beforehand.

"Well, sir, I had read that copper quicken the production of potions substantially. I had decided that Bronze was a better investment."

"You are laboring under the assumption that you yourself know better than the professors who carefully organized the supply list. A point from Gryffindor."

In the hindsight, he was letting it go lightly.

"You will each form a group of pairs with someone sitting to the right of you in order to create a potion of Cure for Boils. Follow the instruction written upon the page 10."

To my friends' horror, I was paired up with Hermione. (They had animosity toward each other at the time.) Looks of sympathy were thrown toward my face of indifference. As long as I was able to brew without trouble, I was willing to work with anyone.

"The book tells you to heat up the mixture to 250 degrees for 10 seconds, not 150 degrees for 20 seconds!" Hermione whispered furiously as I took over the control of the potion, apathetic to her concerns.

"Call it a hunch." I muttered back as I waved my wand over the cauldron. "I have long bloodline of wizards before me in my family. It would be wiser to follow my instincts, wouldn't it?"

Of course, actual instincts took no part within my irregular judgment. I was just actually following the scribbles written over the instructions within my used copy of the book. But no one needed to know this fact.

After Neville melted his cauldron due to poor execution (I partly admired his ability to create poison out of cures... I made myself a mental note to try to purposefully ignore instructions in another time to see what I come up with), and after our time was up, the Professor went over each potion, taking a sweep of look at their draughts.

And, surprisingly, our potion was shades pinker than other potions, showing our success to some extent. And, awhile after Professor Snape gazed at our cauldron intently, he spoke up.

"Miss Granger, please hand over your copy of the textbook."

Silence hung over the classroom as every student intently looked over at our direction. After looking briefly at the pages, he turned toward me.

"Mr. Black, please hand over your copy."

And, like I was told, I handed him over my copy. And, finding no fault, he handed them back, and after one more piercing gaze toward myself, he moved on.

Of course, my used copy of the textbook was still within my bag, safe and sound. He had merely taken a look at the new copy I had brought in for subterfuge.

"You just had to NOT follow the direction and get us both into trouble!" she screeched silently.

"My dear woman," I started with impatience. "If you would notice, we were both only scrutinized, not punished."

* * *

><p>"That was... quite an experience." I dryly commented as we made ourselves home upon some of the pastries on the table.<p>

It was lunchtime, and my other two friends were sitting alongside with me, gloomily poking their toast.

"I'll admit, Harry, I don't think I've seen any teacher visibly displaying their displeasure upon a particular student at their first class. But enough of that talk... apparently you did something famous upon your birth to attract attention from other teachers. Now, according to the students, you stopped a Dark Lord when you were a baby?"

"...Yeah, something like that." he seemed to be not in the mood for talking. Well, no matter. His mere confirmation is enough.

"If it makes you feel better, I took no particular notice of your scar when we first met. I was under the impression that you banged your head against a kitchen sink... Ron, what class do we have next? I can't even take a look at our swirly timetable without getting a vertigo." I took a sip from the nearby goblet.

"Herbology, I think."

"Herbology, that reminds me..." standing up, I took my bag filled with concealed objects; going around to each house table I began to make some sort of trade with the students, all the while being observed by bemused glances of my dear friends.

"...What was that?" Harry took a curious glance at my bag.

"Oh, I was selling Coke. Three sickles per quantity." sitting down leisurely I began to count my net worth. "People seem to be enjoying them."

"...Coke?" Ron looked bewildered.

"Don't worry about it. And no, I am not offering it to my friends. They are addicting. Not good for you." I resumed on my danish. "So Harry, what job does your Uncle have?"

"Um, he goes to work on companies that manufactures drills, I think."

"Boring. Ron, what job does your dad have?"

"He always talks about his work in Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. Something about taking care of muggles that got caught up with magical accidents.

"Now, see, that's more interesting. Imagine your modern plane, and now, enchant it with every kind of air lifting spell you can think of. Your dad makes sure that doesn't happen. Nice. Right, men," I rose from my seat after having shoved the last meatball in my mouth. "Off we march."

Henceforth, my first time meeting Hagrid; my fond friend and teacher. His accent, his mannerism, and his personality fused together to great this wonderful BFG. This pure hearted man holds my utmost admiration.

"Procyon!" He greeted me in an affable and gregarious way upon our introduction. "Boy, do yeh and Harry bring back good memories... I remember back in the day when I had ter ward the Forbidden Forest off from James an' Sirius... but, yeh resemble Regulus more..."

"You knew my father?" I perked up with interest.

"Well, I didn' know Regulus as well as yer Uncle..."

And, as I would learn later on, both my father and my uncle had not so great reputation. Both of them were the followers of this Dark Lord Voldemort, the same one that Harry stopped when he was young, as I would also learn later on. It was a sore topic, regrettably; I was determined to clear my family's noble name and restore it to its former glory with my creative mind and a touch of madness.


	3. Myself and the Hackneyed Macguffin Ch 3

September 10th, 1991.

It appears as though Malfoy was spewing rubbish from his mouth enough to make a garbage can jealous; if I had to hear one more second of him butchering the ways muggle technology actually worked, then I would have to leave the room.

"It is quite ridiculous that they do not allow first years to be within the Quidditch team." Malfoy declared loudly within breakfast at Great Hall. "Of course, my father would be able to supply adequate equipment for the entire team, if necessary... and, I happen to have experience of flying since I was young."

His two cronies, along with most of the Slytherin first years clung onto his every word.

"There I was," Malfoy pointed toward the sky, rest of the first years following with their eyes. "Clutching my Comet 260, chasing the group of muggle robbers escaping by their muggle car. Panicked by an unidentified flyer chasing at them from a _broom_, excuse you, they sped up, determined to get away from me at all costs. Well, that won't do. Flying right behind the wheel of the car I shoved my broom forward, puncturing the rear tire of the car front of me... BOOM!" he made a wild gesture with his hands, startling his listeners. "The car goes out of control! I shifted back, attempting to escape from the eminent crash, but one of the opens up the windows and points his gun toward me!" Cue more gasps from the table. "Gun is a muggle metal wand thingy, by the way. The villains within the vehicle shoots the gun wildly toward my direction! I had to perform several barrel rolls just to dodge them! Than, realizing my chances of escaping with my broom was low, I quickly rose up, and sure enough, there was a helicopter up in the sky, waiting for my orders. Grabbing the rope tossed from the flying machine I fixed it onto my robe, and I was carried to my safety." a fond look covered his face as he gazed toward the sky. The first years around him gaped with admiration.

"There are so many flaws within that story to the point where I don't know where to begin with," I interrupted while standing up from my table, receiving the attention of some Great Hall breakfasters. "Lets see here, you said you caught up to a muggle car on highway on your Comet 260. I find that hard to believe; its top speed ranges around 50 miles per hour, while highway speed limit is around 70. Also, group of robbers wouldn't stick to highway speed limit at any rate; common muggle cars are capable of going up to 100 miles per hour. You said you punctured the tire of the car with your broom tip; if tires are that easy to puncture, than there wouldn't be any alive drivers at this point. Muggle car tires are not just a rubber balloon inflated; it has multiple protective layers including a central tube. Let's say for the sake of argument that the car's tires were indeed punctured; in that case it would most likely quickly spiral out of control crash, and not even give enough time for the robbers to aim and shoot a gun - _backwards_, mind you. The only other alternative is stopping on it's tracks. You said you dodged bullets by broom maneuvers; if you were close enough to touch the tires of the vehicle, than you were at point blank range, which means there is no way you simply evade them. You said you escaped by a helicopter; if there really was a helicopter within range above you, than you wouldn't be able to fly a broom at all; common muggle helicopters have blades rapidly rotating at above 300 rotations per second. The powerful downdrafts would quickly blow you away like a tornado. All in all, a broom that is able to puncture tough rubber, dodge bullets, go above 100 miles per hour, resist powerful gusts of wind, and all the while protecting the person that is riding it. That, is one *magical* broom."

Tables fell silent as first years quietly absorbed my words. I vaguely heard muffled snickers from the Staff Table. Malfoy stood there, shaking, angered at my thorough dissection and rejection of his story.

"Yeah, well..." he spluttered. "Your stupid!"

"Your face is stupid!" I replied. "Also, it's you're, not your."

"Oh yeah? Well your mum-"

"Gentlemen," a strict voice belonging to Professor McGonagall interrupted our squabble. "You are to talk amongst yourselves _quietly_."

Snarling, we turned away from each other, back to our tables.

"Punk." I whispered, as I high fived Ron back at my table.

"I must say, I don't like how you argued so loudly within the Great Hall, but you have very accurate knowledge of muggle technology." Hermione said. "Do all wizards know so much about muggle inventions?"

"Most don't bother to know about them, as they think magic is superior." I shrugged, finishing my pastry. "Of course, due to his lack of knowledge, Malfoy was not able to properly lie about his story."

* * *

><p>And so, with bravado I entered the potions classroom, fully drinking in the heated glare from Malfoy. Despite the less than pleasant professor within the room, I was albeit excited to learn today's potion.<p>

Until...

"...5 cockroaches clusters to be crushed in the pestal, huh..." I gulped as I warily glanced toward the offending jar in question. "...Um, hey, Harry, can you crush them for me? I can help you with something else."

"...Sure." casting a weirded glance toward me Harry worked on the cockroaches while I sighed in relief.

"Hey Jack," Ron called out. "Can you get the spiders?"

"Ah, well..." I chuckled, scratching the back of my head. "Let's ask Harry to do it. I can do something else."

"What's up with you two?" Harry huffed while handing the insects. "Are you afraid of them or something? It's not like they'll kill you or anything..."

"Afraid of them? Moi? Of course not!" I laughed, appearing nonchalant. "I just prefer shrake spines compared to them, that is all..."

Harry gave me a look that can only be best described as one of complete indifferent skepticism. Skillfully grabbing a cockroach he threw it on my lap.

And, I immediately began to scream.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! GET IT OFF ME, GET IT OFF!"

Short, fast bursts of movement followed as I desperately gained distance away from the fowl creature. It fell to the floor, unmoving.

"Doggone it Harry!" I screamed at his face. "Don't do that!"

Harry sighed. "I don't believe this."

Humiliation rushed through me as I took a look at the snickering classroom. Seeing the grin on Ron's face, I grabbed the jar filled with spiders (despite its revulsion) and threw it toward Ron.

Needless to say, he had similar reaction. After much screaming and running around, we were both glaring at each other,

"Black, Weasley," spoke out Snape in a bored tone. "Detention. Tonight at 8."

Grumbling, we went back to work, intent upon preventing further occurring of our professor's wrath.

* * *

><p>"See the flaws within our rigid thinking." I began to point out while marching toward the Flying Lesson. "We are able to use magic, and through that method, able to imbue flying charms upon inanimate objects in order to let us touch the sky. What object do we pick? A comfy, easy to lie upon carpet? Perhaps a booster rocket able to be strapped on our backs. If nothing else than maybe even a car. But nooo... we had to pick a hard, stiff, not good looking brooms. See the folly of the man! How do they expect us to ride on the objects meant for witches? The narrow wood pole clashes painfully against my very own ba-"<p>

"Good afternoon class," a professor interrupted my complaining. "Welcome to your first flying lesson."

And that started our magically journey of flying. Admittedly, it was very exhilarating; the air rushing around you gave off this feeling of thrill and blur. You were the eagle, soaring through the heavens, king of the skies... slowly, I began to contemplate a way to buy my very own racing broom.

But, I digress. I have not even got to the part where we actually flown as of yet.

"Now, once you've got hold of your broom, I want you to mount it. And grip it tight, you don't want to be sliding off the end."

"That's what she said." I quietly muttered.

"When I blow my whistle, I want each of you to kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your broom steady, hover for a moment, and then lean forward slightly and touch back down. On my whistle...3...2..."

And, even before the whistle tweeted, someone was already high up in the sky.

"Hot dang! Neville's already up the sky faster than the rest of us!" I whistled, watching his rapid ascension, and very soon, his descension.

This part is well covered by Harry's own journal; he falls, breaks his wrist, and understandably is quite startled by this accident. While Neville was carted off to Hospital Wing, Malfoy and Harry tussle over his descension, yaddy yaddy yadda... Harry is quickly carted off to be scolded, or so it seems.

"Right, well, I am glad to say Longbottom is being healed up at the Hospital Wing." spoke Professor Hooch after she came back from escorting Neville. "Where did Potter go?" she looked around, noticing a student missing in our midst.

"Professor McGanagall called for him for reasons." I promptly replied before anyone else could open their mouths.

"Right then, onto the lesson. On my whistle I want you to hover, not fly. 3...2..."

* * *

><p>The first flying lesson went pretty well, all things considered. Sure, I got into trouble by impersonating Red Baron and shooting sparks from my wand, but it was loads of fun... aerial wizard battles, that was the idea.<p>

"I really don't have any inclination to start on our homework so soon." Ron remarked as we made our way to the library. "Feel like taking a break?"

"I'm not going to library to start on my homework. I am merely fascinated with the idea having access to occult rich resources. Consider these two points: one, we are within an environment where with magic, almost anything is possible. Two, we have access to an area designed to give people knowledge about such magic. In result, the more we consult these books of knowledge, the more powerful we become. Within those dark dusty tomes lies the way to blissful state of complete wisdom, where you hold your reign over many dominions of magic, each capable to making a great marks in history... there is no time to waste."

"Careful there." Ron rolled his eyes. "You are beginning to channel Granger..."

"Don't even get me started on the restricted area," I spoke as I gave a surreptitious look over to the rope covering the said section of the library. "The knowledge laying over there is darker, but richer. Kind of like dark chocolate. You prefer the taste of milk chocolate most of the time, but the dark ones have that bitter sweetness to them."

"I have no idea what you are talking about, so hurry up and pick a book that will actually interest me..." yawning, Ron stretched his arms back. "Where did Harry go anyway?"

"Probably still being scolded by McGonagall. I hope he doesn't get into too much trouble." I scanned the long string of books, attempting to find one of interest.

"Wait, Jack, this is weird. A huge section of books were taken out."

I turned my attention to where Ron pointed, and sure enough, there was an empty space between two stacks of tomes.

"They have no reason to organize it like this." I said while approaching the bookcase. "At the very least, I should join those two stacks together just to make it look nice... eh?"

I attempted to push one string of books to join the other, but the books held firm, refusing to budge.

"Is there an invisible barrier?" my interest piqued, I began to stretch my hand toward the empty space in the middle, until my fingers felt a groove of a book.

"Yo, this feels weird..." I drawled, my American accent kicking in. "Ron, feel this."

That's what she said, also.

Ron and I began to make out a shape of several books with our sense of touch. Instead of being an empty space, it was being occupied by several invisible books.

"The plaque above us says 'Invisibility Section'." Ron noticed.

"Invisibility Section... pity we can't read'em." I shrugged, moving on. "That must be bad of business tho. So tantalizing, so teasing... Hmm, this might catch your interest. _History behind Wand Wood and Cores._ Wanna find out about your own wand, Ron?"

That's what she said, also.

"I guess... although my wand didn't really chose me. It was passed down from my brother, Charlie. Has a unicorn hair sticking out on the end, unfortunately."

That's what she said, also.

"Well... we'll see if it suits you, according to this book." opening it up and grabbing a comfortable seat, I began to search for the index. "What's the wand wood, Ron?"

"Ash, if I remember right."

"Ash... well, is your birthday between February 18th and March 17th?" I looked over at Ron inquisitively.

"Yeah. March 1st." he nodded.

"Well, not too out of sync, which is fortunate." I began to go down on the list of the characteristics. "By the element, has affinity with Water... a long list about zodiac and planetary association and stuff... has ability for Dark Arts (that doesn't sound good...) and Healing Magic, which sounds oxymoronic... some stuff about Divination, Transfiguration, and Purification... and, unfortunately, it stays tightly loyal to its original wizard, which means bad news for you, my friend."

"Well I didn't expect much." Ron gave a wry grin. "Just my luck, I suppose... look up your wand."

"Let's see, Apple. A wand core without associated dates and zodiacs, interestingly. It has affinity with Water and Earth, the wizards who own them having personality of high aim and ideals, likable, great charm, caring etc. Describes me to a t." I gave a somewhat dry roguish grin. "Not used much with powerful cores, apparently. Some stuff about Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures, and apparently ability to communicate with animals. That sounds useful... hmm, some stuff about how attaching some gems boost the magical powers. That's interesting; if gemstones have ability to boost your skills, than that means they contain innate magic within them, similar to wood. Why can't they fashion a wand out of gemstone?"

"No idea. Too heavy to wield, maybe?"

"Maybe. It just might be a revolutionary idea, tho... right, onto wand cores. Unicorn hair, unicorn hair... here it is. Innocent, pure, long list of similar synonyms, consistent magic, aversion to Dark Arts, subtle, good with Charms and Transfiguration, good with healing, prefers owners with gentle personalities... so I guess that describes your brother."

"Charlie is cool, so I guess so."

"Alright, Kelpie hair... bold, proud, loyal, wise, cynical, etc... a rare wand core as it is thought to be temperamental and substantial. Good at transfiguration, but the book mentions rare and spectacular backfires with it. Well, clashes a bit with my wand wood, so I am interested as to how that will work out." Taking our my wand, I began to take a good look at it. Ron did likewise, fiddling with the unicorn hair sticking out on the top.

"-Hm, your wand is longer than mine." I made an observation.

That's what she said, also.

* * *

><p><strong>Feels like this chapter was focused on juvenile humor... Oh well. Please review!<strong>


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